


Sun of Harad

by ClassicalTorture



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Slavery, dub-con, hobbitnapping, misuse of trust, non-con, pleasing elves but not by choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicalTorture/pseuds/ClassicalTorture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sands glisten like diamonds under the sun of Harad. And so do those that live in the blessed shade of its cities. Bilbo was taken from Shire, and now must become accustomed to life as property of another, while he tries to make the best of the situation and learn of a way to get home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun of Harad

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on the Last Homely Hole, but I the idea just came to me, and I had to go with it. Tell me what you think, and if this has merit. Follow and review dear readers ^_^

 Harad. The place of sun and sand. Sky and an endless desert. Where the grains of time seem to stop tinkling down, and instead whirl about in a never-ending dance on the horizon. Where the days are hot and the nights cold. And if one if to raise their eyes towards the wondering heliopaths when the sun hid behind the barchans, they would see a moon so big, it encompasses the entire great wonder that is the firmament.

   In Harad the life was full of heavy fumes of oils and spice; caress of silk and the tremble of ecstasy. Clever hands sliding over hot skin, spreading aromatic substances, filled with as much beauty as they were with an occasional drop of poison.

   In Harad one was never to trust their eyes, for they could be deceived ever so easily, no matter the illusion or the power of the onlooker. And the strength of men was only rivaled by the beauty of women.

   Elves stayed away, for they were so often welcome with open arms that held between the fingers a sleeping herb, or a promise of fun, filled with danger of never leaving the sun bleached land. For their figures were lithe, and their hair were silk, and elven people were treasured highly on the luscious rugs, by the feet of their masters.

   Men ruled Harad. Men and Dwarf together. For this land, while lacking in Mountains, was filled with gold and treasures, precious gems and rare objects: all of them of the highest quality. And the greed of men and dwarf was never truly sated, even in the most plentiful of times.

   The slavers of the country were infamous all over the Middle Earth as being able to get any sort of creatures in their pens, and deliver them into the Great Market on the allotted day. They traveled through the steps of Khand and brought back women of the marches: short beauties with a flat face, and thin eyes that glittered with the hardships of their people, who spend their days on horseback, always traveling the Marches, and never truly settling anywhere.

   The slavers went like silent thieves through the borders of Gondor, and stole their proud inhabitants that dared to stray outside the safe walls of their house after the sun left the horizon. Men, woman, or child, to the slavers it mattered none. All would find their use on the Great Market.

   Rohan had always been a favorite for those of Harad heritage, as it produced beauties with the hair that rivaled their best metals in its glisten. And their songs fell always so very prettily out of their lips, as their masters had their fun.

   No land was spared the far-reaching hand of the head of the Guild of Slavers. And while it took time, even the far and peaceful Shire would fall quarry to the greed of men. It was simply ill fortune that assured one Bilbo Baggins that he needed the new books that were only available from Bree.

   -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   The young hobbit was taken in a manner he had never expected. As the night drew closer and the town of Bree was still far away, the young Halfling stumbled upon a small camp, settled on the side of the road. There were men, in strange cloth, speaking in tongue Bilbo did not understand; their steeds were a plenty, and a tall wooden cart, covered on all sides with a tarp, stood near-by.

   The hobbit did not expect an invitation, but he had received it after all, as one of the strangers noticed the tired figure walking along the dimming road, and waved its hand in an inviting motion. Heeding the call, Bilbo joined the friendly bunch, and was soon enamored with their exotic looks, tan skin, and warm smiles. And when one of the travelers offered his horn, the hobbit took no mind to the glints that reflected in many of the company’s eyes, as he took gulps of sweet mead.

   With no thought as to why he was so tired so very soon, Bilbo was quickly drawn into the lull of the night, and slumped over the welcoming shoulder of the nearest man. He knew not that the welcome smiles slid off their faces, and in minutes the camp was packed. Bilbo slept under the influence of the sweet mead, and knew not that he was being taken farther and farther away from his home, his cozy hobbit hole, and the life he knew before.

   Woken only briefly by shaking hands, that fed him morsels of meat and let him drink his fill of the sweet mead, the hobbit slept and in his slumber was carefully carted away. He had felt through his heavy body the sensation of rocking waves, as the slavers settled  onto a ship in the port of Grey Havens, and by the shores of first Harlindor, then Minhiriath, Enedwaith, and Gondor, reaching and entering finally the Harner River, where the Harad Road connected its banks.

   The hobbit dreamt of _hot, bright, and burning_ as his unconscious body was lowered onto a goozedown pillow, and a baldachin lowered over it to protect his complexion.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Bilbo awoke to soft hands running sponges all over his body, as they cleared the dirt and grime of the road from him. Confused and disoriented after an unknown period of time, he was only able to flail a bit before, the same hands settled him into the bath, and continued their task.

   With wild eyes, Bilbo took to the situation around him. He could remember going outside his house in order to get some… books? And night! The night was falling, and he met a group of men, settled for the evening on the side of the road. They did not understand him, and he them, but they were friendly enough, and shared their food and drink with him. It was only after drinking from the offered horn that Bilbo’s memory betrayed him, and vague glimpses of hands, soft lulling of his surroundings, and the burning sun remained.

   Now the hobbit found himself in a wooden bath, lined with white sheets, with countless bottles and vials standing and lying all over a number of tables around him, as two young women washing his body, speaking in a tongue he did not know. Despite his protests he was thoroughly cleaned, in every place imaginable, the women squealing in what he took as surprise after taking a look at his hairy feet. They spend a lot of their time making sure that every nook and cranny was free of possible soil and then hauled him out.

   Sputtering, blushing, and attempting to cover his bits, Bilbo was immediately sat on a tall stool, that the women helped him onto, as they ignored his attempts at modesty and courtesy, and simply proceeded to rub him with oils that made his head spin from the intense smells, and spilled almost an entire vile of a something smelling distinctly like lavender and daisies on his hair. Both on his head, and his feet.

   He was then escorted outside the room, and quickly ushered into another. It was empty save for a raised dais in the middle, and the walls were all covered with draperies of sandy gold color, with designs sewn masterfully into them.

   In confusion Bilbo, still disoriented, made a few circles about the empty room, and sat down on the dais, leaning back on his hands. He was extremely confused, did not know where he was, he was just thoroughly groped by women, and not even hobbit ones, and was really aching to get some answers.

   Unfortunately for him, the next hour of Bilbo’s life brought about only more questions, as suddenly light floored the entire space of the room, and the draperies shot up into the ceiling, and were momentarily hidden behind clever wooden panels. Behind them turned out to be mountain of soft pillows, and low tables, filled with food, fruit, and pitchers of what Bilbo assumed to be wine or a similar concoction. And in every alcove, resting their backs on the supportive cushions, lounged men.

   Men, whose looks spoke of wealth better than any words, as their faces were glistening with the fat of devoured fares, fingers dripping it on their robes and sashes, under which Bilbo spied curved daggers and swords in rich sheathes. A lot of them were reclined on the chests and laps of beautiful creatures: men, women, and elf. All of them young and attractive, even to the hobbit’s eye.

   And to the Halflings mortification, all of the eyes that glistened in the now lit space were glued to his person, that was unknowingly mimicking their poses, with his forearms placed on the dais, as Bilbo reclined on it earlier, and his legs slightly spread.

   Suddenly aware of his completely indecent pose, the Halfling straightened up, and closed his legs. His face aflame with embarrassment, as the face of every man, resting in the alcoves followed his movements; Bilbo could only yelp as his hands were grabbed from behind and wretched to his sides, forcing him to stand on his toes in a most uncomfortable position. He had tried to struggle, but palms that gripped him were as soft as they were unyielding, and Bilbo had no choice then to surrender to their will, and continue to try and understand the situation.

   When a man in opulent bronze robes entered the main space of the room, Bilbo’s eyes snapped to him, hoping that he may have the answers. But the only thing he heard was a rolling phrase that echoed throughout the chamber, and started a wave of cheering from the men.

   Unknowingly to the hobbit the Grand-Master of the Great Market, for that was he and no other, stood at his customary place before the assembly of the aristocracy and privileged of Harad and, sweeping his arms up over his head, said with a theatrical flair, developed over the long years of doing the same performance time after time:

   “Let the bidding begin!”


End file.
